Enough
by melissaeverdeen13
Summary: While in their happy marriage bubble, April wants to make their one-month anniversary a special day, even though Jackson isn't big on surprises and drags his heels the entire way.


**This was written in response to a prompt send to be my astoldbyacertifiedunicorn on tumblr. Thanks to her for this idea, I really loved writing it. :)**

When I wake up, before I even look at the clock I know it's much later than usual. The sun is shining almost blindingly through the slatted blinds in our room, and the air is crisp and smells like a late fall morning. There are leaves falling right outside, I can see their shadows pass through the sheers, and I smile to myself when Jackson's words ring through my head - comparing their color to my hair. He always does.

I rest my arms above my head and let out a content sigh. Today is our one-month wedding anniversary, and here we are, still floating happily in our marriage bubble. No one outside the two of us and my family knows about us; we still haven't found the right time to break it to the hospital. And if it were up to me, we wouldn't. Not that I'm not proud to have him as my husband, because I very much am, but I love the fact that what we have is ours and ours alone.

I turn over on my side and, with one hand tucked under my chin, take a moment to just look at Jackson. He's lying on his back, shirtless of course, with the covers around his waist. His lips are parted just slightly and his chest is rising and falling slowly; it's obvious he's still deeply asleep. I can't resist, though, I have to bother him.

I place my hand in the middle of his chest and scoot closer to him, resting my head on his shoulder. His skin is warm and he smells like sleep, which I love. I kiss his cheek and then wrap my arm tight around his waist, jostling him the slightest bit. His lips press against each other and his eyelashes flutter, and he makes a small sound in the back of his throat.

"Good morning…" I whisper, and kiss his jaw.

"April…" His voice is gravelly and lower than usual, like it always is in the morning. I pick up my hand from his waist and move it to his face so I can run my fingers over his stubble.

"Hi."

"It's early," he says, his eyes still unopened.

"It's really not," I say.

"It's early for our day off," he mutters, outstretching his arm to pull me flush to his side. "Just a little bit longer, okay?"

"You want me to rub your back?" I ask him, and he nods and turns over on his side. I run my fingertips down over his shoulder blades and lower; drawing nonsensical shapes over his skin as he drifts back to sleep. But after a few minutes pass, it's not enough. I pull myself closer and wind my arm around his belly so I'm playing the part of the big spoon, and kiss the side of his neck. "Jackson," I whisper.

He grunts softly.

"You know what day it is?" I ask, tracing the shell of his ear.

"Of course I do," he says, mostly into the pillow. "It's a month now."

My stomach jumps with excitement. I hadn't expected him to remember, and it makes me love him even more that he did with hardly any prompting.

"Yeah…" I say, and flip him over onto his back by pulling on his shoulder.

He finally opens his eyes. "And I'm officially not getting any more sleep," he says, a laughing tone in his voice.

I push myself up from the mattress and swing one leg over his hips so I'm sitting right on his stomach. I bend down to kiss him, and when I sit back up he anchors his hands around my waist and smiles. "Happy one month," I say, and run my hands up his chest.

"Happy one month," he echoes, and rubs his hands up and down my arms. I had gone to bed in a long-sleeved shirt, but woken up in only the cami I had on under it. It's not surprising; Jackson is a human radiator under the covers during the night. I always get hot when I'm next to him.

He pulls my face down to his again with one hand on the nape of my neck, and slides both hands down to grip my butt once we start kissing. I smile slightly against his lips and when I rock back slightly, can feel how hard he already is. He tenses up when I accidentally brush his erection, and his hands tighten on me.

At the same time he slips his hands up the back of my shirt, he slips his tongue inside my mouth. "Mm," I say, and pull away from him. Once that starts, it's a slippery slope and I know I won't be able to resist him. And I have other things planned for this morning. "I have a surprise for you," I say.

He lets out a long breath. "I thought this was already a pretty nice surprise," he says, curling a tendril of my hair behind my ear.

"Well, yeah," I say. "But… just trust me, okay? I have a whole thing planned."

"Planned?" he asks, raising his eyebrows.

"Yes!" I say enthusiastically, and dismount from him to hop off the bed. "Be right back. You wait right here." I walk away from him and then turn around once I get to the door. "Do not fall back asleep," I say, pointing my finger at him.

I go out into the kitchen and cook a beautiful breakfast as fast as I can while still making sure it's perfect. Once I've made an omelet, pancakes and cut up apples for both of us, I put the plates gingerly on a tray and tie a balloon to either handle. I smile to myself as I carefully lift it and then bump the bedroom door open with my hip to find Jackson lying in the same position that I left him in, fast asleep.

"Hey, you," I hiss, and he jolts awake.

His eyes widen and he sits up. "What's all this?" he asks confusedly, rubbing his eyes.

"I made breakfast," I say.

"April," he says, and I set the tray down on his lap. "You didn't have to do this."

"I wanted to," I insist. "Today is special. I wanted to make it memorable."

He wraps one arm around my shoulders for a side-hug and kisses my temple. "It was already going to be memorable," he says, picking up a fork. "But this isn't all for me, is it? There's no way I'm gonna be able to finish this."

I giggle and pick up the second fork. "No, silly," I say. "I'm going to help you."

While we make light conversation, I notice that Jackson is only picking at his food and has barely touched anything. "Not hungry?" I ask, raising my eyebrows.

"Oh, I…" He sighs and sets the fork down. "I just never eat breakfast. Food doesn't really sit well with me in the morning."

"I didn't know that."

"Yeah, I know," he says. "I didn't want to ruin it."

I move my lips to one side. "Well." I let out a long sigh. "You're seriously not going to eat any more of it?" He shakes his head and rests one hand on his stomach. I look down at my plate that I've thoroughly finished, and feel a twinge of annoyance towards him. "That's fine," I say, and slide off the bed to pick the tray up and bring it back to the kitchen. As I lift it, a balloon bops him in the face, but I don't say anything in regards to it. I chuckle once my back is turned, and then come back after the dishes are in the sink. "I have more plans," I say.

"More?" he asks.

"Yeah," I say, sitting on the edge of the bed. "It's a beautiful day outside. I thought we could go on a hike through Discovery Park. See the water, breathe that awesome ocean air, you know, just be together." He gives me a deadpan look. "Jackson, come on," I say, pulling on his wrist to get him up. "Get up and get in the shower, please? Pretty please?"

"Now you're trying to get me naked?" he jokes, complying and walking towards the bathroom as I push on his back.

"Shut up," I say, and sit on the counter while he turns the shower on.

"I'm only getting in if you come in, too," he says.

"We'll never get anywhere if I go in there with you," I say, crossing my arms.

"Then I guess we're not going…"

"Jackson," I say, hearing the slight hint of annoyance in my voice.

"April," he mocks. "Come on. It's our anniversary. Get in the damn shower with your husband."

My mouth screws up in an unwilling smile. "No funny business," I say. "I mean it. I want to get going."

"Okay, okay," he says, compromising. He takes his pants off and throws them into the laundry basket and then walks over to me in his underwear. The bathroom has started to fog up from the shower and how long it's already been running. "For you to get in, you have to get these clothes off," he says, turning his head to ghost his lips across my neck.

"I'm getting there," I say, my voice rising in pitch as I lift my cami off over my head. I'm braless underneath and the second it's off, Jackson's lips are pressed to my collarbone and threatening to go lower.

I hop off the counter and he follows my body movements, keeping his arms wrapped around my waist as I struggle to get my pajama pants down. "I can't get these off if you're attacking me," I say, letting my head fall back.

"You're so whiny," he says, pecking my jaw. "Meet me in there."

When we're both in the shower, only a few minutes pass before he presses me up to the wall and I can feel him get hard against my upper thigh. "You," I breathe, as his fingers weave through my hair. I reach down and nudge his erection away from me. "And you," I say, "Are too much."

"Jesus," he says, sounding defeated.

"I said no funny business," I say. "We have somewhere to be."

"We don't have to be there."

"Well, no, but we should. It'll be fun. Jackson, come on. Please. Just do this for me."

"I am doing this," he says defensively, widening his eyes. "I just would've liked to be warned, that's all."

"That's not how surprises work."

"I'm not a huge fan of surprises," he informs me.

I let a short breath out my nose. "You've never told me that before," I say.

He squirts shampoo into his palm. "Well, now you know."

I scrunch my nose. "I'm learning all kinds of things about you today."

"What's that supposed to mean?" I shake my head. "Am I supposed to make a list of things that I don't like for you?"

I flatten my lips and narrow my eyes at him.

"Well, to start off... I hate surprises."

"We've been over that one."

"I hate hockey. Horses. Two-hole outlets, because there always needs to be a third. Green-apple artificial flavored anything. Oh, and carrot cake," he says.

I gasp excitedly. "I hate carrot cake, too!" I say.

He makes a pretend-astonished face. "You know what? We should get married," he says.

I put both of my hands on his chest and press the tip of my nose to his. "We're already married," I whisper.

He kisses my lips and wraps his arms tight around my waist. "Oh, my god," he says. "How lucky am I."

We laugh for a while, and then I tell him that we need to get going. When I go to squirt my shampoo, which has been running out for days, a huge glob of it flies from the bottle and lands right on his face, in his eyes. "Oh, god!" I say, and the bottle goes tumbling to the floor.

"Blinded on our anniversary," he says, laughing through the pain. "Shit, this hurts. April, don't you think permanently injuring me was going a bit far?"

I smack him lightly on the back as he rinses out his eyes. "Shut up," I say.

I wash his hair for him and he washes my body for me, and we only get tempted to fool around one other time before we force ourselves to get out. After I dry off, I find an outfit suitable to hike in and tie my hair up in a ponytail as it's still wet, then deem myself ready to go. Jackson, on the other hand, is painstakingly trying to find something to wear with his towel still wrapped around his waist as I'm tying my boots up.

"You're a vain man," I say under my breath, my eyes glinting as I look at him.

"Be quiet," he says. "Averys don't hike."

"This Avery does," I say, standing up with tightly-laced shoes and patting his bare back. "Just pick something. Jeans and a shirt. It's not like we're going on the Oregon Trail."

He sighs deeply, and I leave him to it while I pack some snacks and water for us. When he finally comes out ready to go, I've been waiting on the bottom step for what feels like forever.

"Ready to walk the runway?" I ask.

He pinches his lips together. "If I would've known we were doing this, I would've been faster."

"We already went through this," I say, hand on the doorknob. "Can we leave now?"

"I'm ready," he says tersely, and then walks with me to the car.

We get in, and he plugs the directions into the GPS. I lean my head back against the headrest and look on the window as he drives, unable to stop remembering the time we had been in this car exactly a month ago.

"Are you thinking about it?" he asks, reading my mind.

I smile over at him. "Of course I am. Are you?"

"I can't get in this car without thinking about it," he admits, and takes my hand.

"You still glad you did it?" I ask.

He raises his lip and shakes his head. "Nah."

I punch his shoulder. "You're the worst."

When we get to Discovery Park, the sun is shining and the air smells crisp and fresh. "It's a little colder than I thought," Jackson says, locking up the car. "I didn't bring a jacket."

"It'll get better once we get moving," I say. "Your blood will start pumping and warm you up."

"Says the girl with a jacket," he says.

"You're always hot," I say, stepping onto the trail. "I didn't think it was possible for you to be cold."

"It's usually easier than this. If I'm cold, I can just turn the thermostat up, or grab a sweatshirt. I'm not in walking distance of either of those things at the moment."

"Being outside is good for you, city boy," I tell him. "It clears your head."

"Oh, yeah?" he asks. "And what does sand in my shoe do for me?"

I grit my teeth and resist rolling my eyes at his constant complaining. "Builds character," I answer.

To me, hiking in the park with an ocean view is special. But to him, it doesn't seem so much that way. I want him to feel the same as I do, though, so I push through. I want to show him how nice this can be, if he'll just let me.

Only about twenty-five minutes pass before he says, "I'm hungry."

"Oh, now you're hungry?" I ask, throwing my words back over my shoulder. He's been consistently lagging, but refuses to let me wait up for him. His ego is so bruised that I'm better at something than him that he can hardly stand it, and I'm secretly loving it.

"Yes," he says. "It's lunchtime."

I stop in my tracks and then set the backpack down with a thump onto the sand. I dig out some granola and then sit down on the ground and open the bag, gesturing for him to join me. He eyes the sand where I'm sitting, and I let out a loud huff. "It's sand, Jackson," I say. "It's not gonna bite you."

He finally sits. "I know that," he says, and I pour some granola into his open hands. We eat in silence for a while, and then I brush my hands off and stand up. I reach my hand out for him to take to help him up, but he refuses it and gets up on his own. I narrow my eyes at him, but I don't say anything about it.

"There's a spot at the top where we can sit down that I want you to see," I tell him, looking back at where he's huffing and puffing up the sandy hill. "You'll like it."

I think I hear him mutter something like 'doubtful' under his breath, but I don't ask him to clarify.

A little while later, we get to the top of a steep hill that overlooks the Pacific Ocean. The sky is a pristine blue and the whitecaps are cresting the top of the waves crashing onto the shore far down below. The view is picturesque, but Jackson cares more about the empty bench in his vicinity than the pretty scene in front of us.

"Ah, someplace to sit," he says, plopping down.

I stay standing, surveying the beautiful picture. "Are you seeing this?" I ask him, still faced out.

"Yes," he says. "It's right in front of me. Can't miss it."

I look at him through my peripheral vision, but he can't tell. "It's just so rare that we get out of the hospital to see something like-"

Interrupting my sentence, I feel his arms around my waist pulling me onto his lap. "I'd be able to see the view if your little body wasn't in my way," he says, playfully growling into my neck. "Not that I don't love the view of your ass, but…"

"Stop!" I say, my voice high-pitched and scolding.

"Oh, who's around to hear?" he asks, jokingly looking around. "That seagull? You're my wife. I'm allowed to say stuff like that now."

"We'll see about that," I say. "You better watch yourself."

"Or what?"

"Or...something."

He laughs and situates me in a more comfortable position, then my stomach growls and interrupts the moment. "Hungry, huh?" he asks, prodding me.

"No," I say. "I'm fine. And shush, I'm enjoying the silence."

"You're hungry. That birdseed wasn't enough for you, either."

"I said shush," I say. "I hear your voice enough as it is. I just want silence." I turn and press a finger to his lips, but he gently bites it before I can rip it away. "Jackson, I mean it! I'm going to hurt you."

"Oh…" He rests his chin on my shoulder, and I lean back against him. "So scary."

"Shush."

After a while of staring out at the ocean, I feel his eyes on me. I'm still on his lap, and there's no way I can turn my head without being noticed, so I just do it. I look down and see that I was right; that he was staring at me with the tiniest of smiles on his face, and when I catch him, he looks away quickly. He gazes ahead, and I press a kiss to his temple and lean back heavier against him, feeling my cheeks blaze with a blush that he gave me.

He's quiet for longer than I expect him to be, and I get a good, long few minutes of just watching nature and feeling him breathe against me. When I feel satisfied, I reach behind me to hold his head and ask, "Ready to leave?"

Once my words come out, his eyes light up like I've told him something much more impressive.

Once we're home, Jackson collapses on the couch, shoes still on and everything. I scoff at him and walk to the counter, where two gifts are wrapped from where I left them earlier. I meant to have us open them at breakfast, but it totally slipped my mind.

"You sound like you just climbed Mount Everest," I say, coming up from behind him and running my hand over his head.

"I think I did," he says, craning his neck to look at me. "Come sit. What do you have?"

"This?" I ask, raising my eyebrows. "Oh, just a present. That you probably don't want."

His eyebrows crinkle. "What? Of course I want it. Sit. Come here."

I give in without much more pressing and join him on the couch, curling my legs up beside me so I can lean against him. I hand him one of the gifts, which happens to be a near-twin of the one I'm about to open for myself, and then smile. "Open it!" I say excitedly.

He rips open the paper and casts it aside, and I wait to open mine so I can watch his reaction. When he sees what's inside, confusion is the first emotion that registers on his face, and then his eyebrows raise and a strange smile appears on his lips. "A mug," he says, spinning it around. "With our faces on it."

I tear open mine so I can show him. "I got one, too," I say, and hold it out in comparison. The photo on his is a selfie that we took on a late night walk in Moline when we were there to tell my family about what we did. He's looking at the camera with his signature close-mouthed grin, and my head is tucked up right next to his, smiling widely. Out of the frame, my arms are wrapped around his waist and his hand is in my back pocket. Just looking at this photo makes all those warm memories come flooding back to me. The one on mine is a semi-professional shot from our tiny wedding, where we're facing backward on a bench with bright smiles on our faces. Our temples are pressed together and his arm is wrapped around my shoulders, and I have a soft grip on his hand. "Don't you love them?" I ask.

"Wow," he says, nodding at the mugs. "They're great. I feel like I'm being stared at."

I snap my head to look at him. "You don't like them," I say. He shakes his head and tries to defend himself, but I don't let him get a word in. "You don't!" I insist.

"I never said that," he says. "They're just a lot." He chuckles.

"Are you going to use yours?" I ask.

"Of course."

"Bring it to the hospital?"

"I'll probably keep it at home."

I set my jaw. "I should've known. You're such a spoiled sport! I should've known you wouldn't like it." I try to take his mug out of his hands, but he keeps a tight grip on it. "You don't have to use it. I'll just use both."

"April," he says, sounding a bit surprised. "I'm going to use it. Can you just relax? I like it. I really like it. I just didn't expect this."

I glare at him and then glance down at the mug. "We're cute," I say. "That's why I did it."

"We're very cute," he says, pressing his lips to my hair. "Especially me."

"Now I'm really not letting you use it," I say, then sigh and look up at him. "Do you promise you like it?"

"It's unique," he says, glancing down my lips before kissing me softly.

"That's not liking it," I point out.

"It's interesting."

"Jackson," I say exasperatedly. I open my mouth to say more, but then change my mind and close it again.

"What?"

"Never mind," I say.

"No, what?"

"It doesn't matter," I say. "Here, let me have that. I'll go put it away in the cupboard, and we can get cleaned up and get ready to go."

"Ready to go?" he asks, watching me as I walk into the kitchen. "Where are we going now? April, I'm fricken exhausted."

"I know, I am, too," I say. "But I got us a reservation at Canlis."

His interest is piqued. "Canlis?" he asks, sounding incredulous.

"Yeah," I say. "I mean, unless you don't want to go. I'll call and cancel, and I'm sure some other couple on the waitlist will gladly take our spot."

He gets up from the couch and joins me in the kitchen, wrapping his arms around my waist from behind in the way he knows I like. "God, no," he says. "We're getting that spot."

"Okay," I say. "Good."

We get cleaned up all over again, but take double as long to get out the door, mostly thanks to Jackson. I find a dark green, knee-length dress to wear with a relatively low neckline, and am slipping on my nude heels when he comes out of our room, finishing up the top buttons on his gray dress shirt. He has a black tie slung around his neck, and is slipping on his shoes when I go up to him and tie it without asking or being told to. Little things, like the way he looks down at me as I gently tighten the tie over his throat, make me so thankful that we ended up together in the way we did.

When we pull up to the restaurant, my stomach jumps with nervousness and excitement as I remember what I have planned for us after, but I keep it to myself. We sit down across from each other at a candlelit table, and I take Jackson's hand as we look through the menu.

"I can't believe you did this," he says, glancing up and looking around. "It takes forever to get into this place. How long ago did you make reservations?"

"That's for me to know, and you to never find out," I say.

"Are you a psychic? Did you do this before I even stood up at your wedding?" he asks, chuckling.

I roll my eyes. "Oh, you know me too well."

As we sit there with the menus open in front of us, he looks up over the top of his. "Should we order for each other?" he asks.

"Thought you didn't like surprises," I say.

"Well, this is different."

I try to be open-minded. Maybe I've been being too hard on him all day, because now it seems like he's going to try. "Okay," I agree, and scour the menu for something he'll like. I pass it by him before telling the waiter, just in case, and get a big smile on the very first try. I'm easy, of course. I'm the least picky person the planet.

After we order, he looks at me pointedly. "April, you've done a lot today. I had no idea you were going to do all this."

"That's the point of a surprise," I tell him.

He shakes his head minutely. "No, that's not what I mean. I mean, if I would've known, I would've done something for you, too. I didn't know...because it's a month, and I didn't know what you do for a month...and…"

I cut him off. "Jackson, no. I didn't do all this because I expect something back."

"I know," he says.

"No, I don't think you know," I say. "I did - I'm _doing_ \- all of this because I love you. And we're married, and it makes me happy to do special things for you and with you." He nods, but doesn't say anything. "What?" I ask.

"I just don't want you to feel like…" he begins, but doesn't finish.

"What?"

He shakes his head. "Nothing. I… nothing."

"It sounded like something. Are you sure?"

"Yeah," he says. "Let's just enjoy this, okay?"

"I am enjoying it," I say, feeling tension growing in my shoulders. A sure sign that I'm getting upset.

"I am, too," he says.

Our food comes, briefly interrupting our conversation. Once the waiter leaves and we start eating, I pick it back up again. "I didn't want to argue here," I say. "But this whole day, you've been kind of a downer about everything I've been doing."

"No, I haven't," he claims.

"You really have," I say, twirling pasta around my fork. "And I didn't expect that, so it kind of bothered me. It's still bothering me."

"I'm sorry," he says.

"Okay," I say.

"Are you okay?" he asks, and I nod. I'm lying to him and myself, but I want to convince us both that I'm fine. I don't want to ruin this. He's already done enough ruining for today, when all I wanted to do was make it special. I'm going to turn this around if it's the last thing I do, because I want to show him how much he truly means to me in the best ways I know how. "Okay, good," he says, reaching across and taking my hand to squeeze it. When he lets go, I give him a smile and we finish our dinner amicably.

Our car ride home is mostly silent as I try to build myself back up. It's getting late, but I have one more thing planned for us. We walk into the house, and I spin around and with fake surprise, let out a groan.

"Oh, god," I say. "I forgot."

"What?" he asks, pausing at the door.

"We need milk," I say. He looks at me confusedly. "I meant to tell you to stop at the store on our way back, but it slipped my mind."

"Milk?"

"Yeah. We have none for cereal tomorrow, and you know how I feel about my breakfast."

"April," he says. "Can't you just eat something else?"

"I really want cereal," I say stubbornly. "Can you please just run back out and get some?"

"Seriously?"

"Please?" I ask.

It only takes a long, lasting glance for him to give in. "Okay," he says, defeated. "Be back in a minute."

The door barely closes before I jet off to the bedroom and stand on my tiptoes to reach the top shelf in our closet where I've stored a bag that I've kept hidden from him for days now. I yank it down and pull out the lacy underthings that barely count as garments, and feel my hands tremble with nerves. Last weekend, I went out and bought a lingerie set that I wouldn't be caught dead in for anyone but Jackson. The bra and underwear are black and lacy, and when I put them on, I can't stop adjusting the underwear around my butt even though it isn't a thong, and the bra digs into my sides so sharply it's probably piercing me.

After I put it on and try my best to adjust to the way it feels on me, I stand in the middle of the closet and wonder if it's really worth it. From the way he's been acting all day, it seems like the last thing Jackson wants from me is yet another surprise, especially one as big as this. I let out a long sigh and walk into the bathroom, where I stand in front of the full-length mirror to scrutinize the way I look.

My scrawny body was definitely never meant for something like this, that's for sure. I run my hands over my ribcage and let them rest at my hips, tipping my head this way and that as my eyes travel down my pale skin. Maybe I shouldn't have done this. It's stupid. It's too much. It's not me.

Some part of me still wants to, though, because I want to know what he'll think. He always makes me feel the best about my body and the way I look. He always makes me feel beautiful, and I want to wear this for him. He's joked about my plain undergarments more than once, so this will definitely be a game changer in that department. I can't help but smile when I think about that.

I force myself to stay in it for Jackson, and walk gingerly over to the bed where I want to be waiting when he finds me.

I try and find a sexy way to showcase myself, and end up writhing about the mattress in an attempt to pose. I start on my stomach, knowing how much he'll like the view of my butt, but my arms get tired of holding my head up. I flip over onto my back, but that doesn't feel very sexy, so I end up on my side with one arm supporting me and the other resting over my belly.

When I hear the door open, I shake my hair behind me and perk up as I wait for him to come into the bedroom. "April?" he calls out. "They were out of skim. So I got you 2%. I hope that's okay, I figured it would be." Silence. "April?"

I clear my throat. "In here," I call out.

As his footsteps get closer, I get more and more jittery. I take in a deep breath as he appears and then open my eyes to see his face looking very shocked, standing there in the doorway to our bedroom with the gallon of milk in his hands.

"Oh - April...wow, oh, what are you…"

My stomach sinks. That was not the reaction I expected nor the one I wanted, and now I just feel stupid lying here. I sit up quickly and shrink my body into itself, crossing my arms over my chest and putting on the closest thing I can find to cover myself, which just so happens to be a gray zip-up of Jackson's.

My eyes well up with tears before I can regain any control over myself; it all happens so quickly. "Wait, why did you cover up? Why are you crying?" he asks, setting the milk down on the dresser and walking closer to me. "April, what is going on?"

I sniffle loudly, wiping under my eyes with the heels of my palms. Along with my embarrassment comes red-hot anger boiling in the pit of my stomach - at him and at everything that went wrong today. Much to my chagrin, my voice shakes when I speak. "I'm just trying to show you that I love you and that I appreciate you," I say through my tears. "And you're just… you don't care."

"April," he says seriously. "That is not true."

"What woman wants that look of pure and utter shock, like... _bad_ shock, on her husband's face when he sees her in lingerie? Now I just feel stupid," I say, breathing erratically.

"No, no," he says, sitting down next to me on the bed. "I just didn't expect…" He shakes his head at himself. "You look amazing. You know how I feel about you in as little clothes as possible." I let out a sad-sounding scoff. "I didn't mean to make you feel stupid. I'm really sorry."

"It's not just that," I say, getting mad again. "You don't get it." I take in a deep breath. "I love you. I always have. Even the things I don't like, I love. And I want you with me. I love you, and I think that you love me, too. Do you?" I let out a long breath. "That sound familiar?" He nods, looking a bit bashful. "How am I supposed to ever compare to that?"

He stands up from the bed, and I think we're going to have it out; a full-out argument that involves screaming and crying and messy tempers. My body prepares for it; my fists clench and my jaw sets tight and I will myself to stop crying, though that doesn't work.

"You want to show me that you love me in a big way, like I did by stopping the wedding?" he asks.

"Yes," I say emphatically.

"April…" The tone of his voice chances. It's not combative or raised anymore.

"What?"

He makes meaningful eye contact. "You ran away with me. You don't need to do all this extra stuff. I know you like to, but all I want to do is spend time with you. Be with you. Of course I love… this." He gestures to my getup that I've so hastily covered. "But I love you with me. Just us. Being us."

"Yeah?" I peep, finally able to catch my breath.

"Yeah," he says, sitting next to me again and resting one hand on my thigh and using the other to wipe away errant tears. "God, you cry such big, fat tears."

"I'm sorry for, you know, being so... _much_ today," I say.

He shakes his head and continues to wipe my tears. "You have nothing to apologize for," he tells me. "Don't say sorry because I was being an ass." I look up at him with wide eyes, and he nods. "Yeah, I was. I was being an ass."

I sniffle in and stare down at my knees. "Yeah, you kind of were," I say, sounding pitiful.

He chuckles and pulls me close to his side. "I promise I'll do better for our two month," he says.

"We don't have to do it every month, you know," I say. "I just thought one month was cute and special."

"It was."

"Well."

He snorts. "I do like the idea of an excuse to spend time with my wife once a month, though."

I look up at him and nod, still teary. "We do need one. We're so busy all the time."

He strokes my hair. "I know. Damn that surgical life."

I rest my head against his shoulder and let out a long sigh. He kisses the top of my head and rubs my upper arm, slightly rocking us both back and forth. "I never meant to hurt your feelings with my asshole attitude today," he says. "I'm really sorry that I did."

"You said that already," I say softly.

"I know. But I want to make sure you know."

"I do."

"Okay, good," he says, then pulls away from me. "Can I get a real look at this now?" he asks, gesturing to my outfit. "I don't want it to go to waste."

My shoulders drop a little bit and I cast my eyes to the ceiling as he looks at me. "Seriously?" I ask. "You really wanna see?"

He widens his light eyes at me. "April."

I giggle. "Okay, fine," I say, and then pull apart the sides to the zip-up that I had thrown on as I stand up in front of him. "It feels totally wrong and it doesn't look very good-"

"You're kidding me," he says, and pulls the sleeves of the sweatshirt down so it falls off of my body, and I'm left there in just the skimpy bra and underwear. "You think this doesn't look good? Seriously?"

I wrinkle my eyebrows at him and shift my weight over to one hip. "I mean, I don't really fill it out that great…"

"You're insane," he says, and kicks off his shoes as he pulls me closer by my waist. When I'm standing between his parted knees, the intense way he's looking at me makes my knees wobble and heat find its way to my middle. "Because right now, I'm looking at the hottest thing I've ever seen."

"Jackson," I sigh, rolling my eyes, "Stop."

"You think I'm joking," he says, pulling me down onto his lap. "I'm not." He winds his arms around my waist and presses his face to my chest, where he lets out a long breath and kisses the lacy outline of the bra. "And if you're still up for it, I'd love to get this off of you," he says.

I smile; small at first and then a wide, bright grin, and then nod.

"Good," he says, and picks me up and flips us so I'm laying down on the mattress and he's standing over me. Pretty soon he's only in his underwear, too, so he crawls over my body with a wolfish smile on his face that makes me giggle and pull him closer to kiss him, and with his body pressed heavy over mine, I wrap my legs around his hips and can feel him pressing insistently to my core. We're only separated by two thin layers of fabric, and I can't help but moan into his mouth when his hips involuntarily buck against mine.

When his mouth finds its way to my neck, I sigh his name and feel myself start to lose complete control of my senses. He presses one hand to my belly, then moves it up my ribcage and then slides underneath the middle band of my bra. I press my lips together and arch my back against the bed when he moves his hand from the middle of my chest over to the right side, where he rubs his thumb over my nipple until it hardens.

"I love this, but it's gotta come off," he says, his breath hot against my sternum. I nod fervently, and he expertly winds his arm around my back to undo the latch one-handedly. I shimmy out of it once the clasp is unsnapped, and he moves his mouth to my breast almost instantly.

One arm lies limp above me on the pillow and I use the other to stroke his head, my eyes closed the whole time. So that means when his hand moves south to trace the band of my underwear, I don't see him do it. I only feel it. My hips twitch in response to his touch, and I take in a shaky breath when his fingers dip inside the front of my underwear and then push their way inside of me.

My mouth falls open and I see stars behind my eyelids thanks to everything he's doing to me. While leaving soft teeth imprints on my chest, his hips have started to thrust against my thigh, and I can feel his erection rubbing insistently against me. And this is happening all the while he's getting me closer and closer to orgasm with his fingers; it's almost too much for me to handle.

I whimper softly when I get close and he moves his lips from my breast down lower. In a rush, he yanks my underwear down my hips and only gets them to my knees before connecting his mouth with my heated center, and gets me off with his tongue rather than his fingers. My neck arches and I let out a series of soft, animalistic-sounding cries when I come, and have to tightly grip his shoulders to keep myself anchored to this earth.

I'm breathing heavily when he pulls himself back up to eye-level, wiping his mouth hastily before kissing me hard on the lips. "You're amazing," he says, shucking off his underwear. While he waits for me to catch my breath and come fully down, he presses a line of kisses down the outside of my ribcage and then back up, pausing only when he gets to the pulse point on my neck that he knows drives me crazy.

When my breathing comes easier, I want him inside me. I move his hips down by pressing my feet to the backs of his thighs, and he chuckles. "Pushy," he says.

I don't have anything quippy to respond with, I'm at a loss for words because of his body. When he thrusts inside me, a wide, near-manic smile appears on my face and my eyes roll up towards the ceiling as I feel every inch of him.

I love it when he says my name during sex, and when he comes, he does just that. With his face buried in my neck and one arm wrapped around my middle, hips hips move erratically in a way that lets me know he's close. I kiss whatever skin I can reach, which just so happens to be his shoulder, and oscillate my hips in accordance to his so he can get there. Once he does, he pushes through it and keeps thrusting so I can come again, too, and I get to feel that same starburst of sensation all over again.

After it's over, he stays lying on top of me, heavy and spent. I run my fingertips up his back and kiss the side of his head, holding him close while I'm in the position to. "I love you," I whisper. "And I'd run away with you again any day, that's a promise."

I feel him smile against my collarbones and press a soft kiss to the indent between them. Tonight, we don't need any more words. Just us being us is enough.


End file.
